


A Slip of the Tongue

by OffYourBird



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because Spuffy, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Hopeful Ending, I mean really, Season/Series 05, also we have some light foot play, and here there be sex, but it definitely surprises the hell out of Buffy, but nothing weird, even if not as much as Spike wants, plus a lot of heated snark, when is it not when Spike's involved, you bet your last jelly donut that the tongue slippage is an innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OffYourBird/pseuds/OffYourBird
Summary: As far as Buffy is concerned, the only vampires now allowed in her life are the ones meeting the pointy end of her stake. Though a certain bleached menace has somehow managed to slip in anyway—and an unfortunate slip of the tongue makes the situation even more precarious.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 17
Kudos: 239





	1. Not Her Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amidtheflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/gifts).



> This little, two-part fic was written for the fabulous amidtheflowers, who has been in fandoms for a long while, and who has participated in a number of fic exchanges through the years. However, while she has delivered many fics written with care, her partners have had a tendency to drop off the face of the planet and leave her giftless. So this is amid’s stand-in exchange gift. Much deserved and written with oodles of love. I hope you are having the most splendid birthday ever, my dearest amid!
> 
> Prompt given: Buffy, despite making it painstakingly clear that there is Absolutely No Chance of Spike Ever Being A Thing, sees Spike around another girl and blurts out, “Get off my boyfriend!” ala Jackie from That 70’s Show.
> 
> Starts during 5.15 _I Was Made to Love You_ anddiverges from canon at this point. Some dialogue and scene adapted from the episode.
> 
> Much love to yellowb for beta'ing.

Spike was in front of her. Spike, who should have been off the hellmouth and preferably off the entire planet after his insane _I love you and look, honey, I’ve strung you up with chains and my psychotic ex to tell you how much_ stunt. In his usual black-on-black ensemble, hands tucked obscenely around his belt buckle, he stuck out like a sore thumb against the Bronze’s brightly dressed spring break luau crowd. Or like an evil, stalker vampire.

“Oh dear. If looks could stake.”

God, some days—like today—she really wished they could. Her glare deepened. “I told you, I wa-”

He scoffed at her. “You want me to leave town. Yeah, I got the message.”

“If you’d gotten it,” she hissed, “you’d be gone.”

Spike just stared at her, his eyes narrowing as he cocked his head. “No,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not like your past and likely future exes, Slayer.”

And how unfair was that? Both the guys she’d wanted around had roared right out of town without so much as a sayonara, while Spike was still here being infuriating.

“It’s a free country. Free party,” he continued belligerently, grabbing a piece of chex mix from the table in front of them. “If you want me to leave, you can put your hands on my hot, tight little body and make me.” He stuck the chex mix on his tongue and swallowed it with a lewd smirk.

Something stirred in her lower belly despite the million tons of disgust currently in residence there. “Get. Away. From. Me.”

Spike's smirk fell into another evaluating gaze. "You really think I'm going to shove off just because you pulled up the gates on your lily-white castle and shout volleys at me from the ramparts?" 

"Spike, I would send you a handwritten 'get at least two countries away from me' card if that's what it took for you to leave. Personally autographed, even."

"Ah, but see..." He dipped his head close to her ear and she froze. "We both know why you’re doing it.” Cool gusts of air struck her skin like blows, his words low and heavy with promise: “Because you’re afraid of what I can make you feel.”

He was gone before she could do anything but jerk her head away. She caught the edge of his chuckle as he disappeared into the crowd. Her head spun.

Who the _hell_ did he think he was? What she wanted to feel was normal. She wanted to have a nice normal boyfriend who loved her and who stuck it out when the going got tough. Was that really too much to ask?

When Ben reappeared on the edge of her vision—back from disposing of his cup and hopefully ready for the dance he’d promised her—he gave her an uncertain look that made it clear he’d spied at least part of her interaction with Spike. Oh, joy.

“Was that guy bothering you? Should I, um, offer to get inappropriately violent or something?”

She forced a laugh. “No. It was… nothing.”

His expression relaxed. “Good, 'cause, honestly, I don't wanna.”

She nearly melted with relief. Definitely no undercover demon hunting with this guy. Just Ben. Normal Ben with the hospital job, and the saving of people, and the actual pulse-having situation. And the completely endearing way of giving her his phone number. Now this was a guy who deserved her feelings. She accepted the pink scrap of napkin with a bright smile.

Her expression slipped when she made the mistake of glancing to the side and saw Spike flirting with some perky brunette bimbo on the dance floor. Ugh. For a vampire who had claimed he loved her last week, he sure was quick to flirt with the next available little hobag in the area. She looked away before he could catch her staring, irrationally annoyed. Why did she even care?

No, she so, _so_ didn’t care.

Not one little tiny bit.

Buffy glanced over again, her eyes widening as she watched bimbo girl lift up Spike by his throat one-handed, yelling something about how he couldn’t speak that way to her.

Annoyance turned to glee. Which then turned immediately to resignation as she realized the presence of a super-powered girl who wasn’t her and who was definitely aggressive meant Buffy’s Normal Night Out was officially over.

“Crap,” she muttered. She turned to Ben, her voice Slayer hard. “Stay here.” Not waiting for a reply, she moved toward the rising scene.

“You’re not Warren,” the girl was shouting as the nervous crowd backed away and Spike gurgled incoherently, legs flailing. “You’re not my boyfriend! No one but Warren can say those things to me.”

Looked like Spike was striking out all over in the boyfriend category. What a shame. Still, he didn’t exactly deserve to get decapitated in the course of rejection. At least not by some rando girl. If there was anyone who was going to be doing the Killing of the Spike, it was Buffy. She had the monopoly on him being ‘not her boyfriend.’

“Ohhh-kay,” Buffy declared as she came up beside freak-o girl and put a warning hand on the other woman’s shoulder, “as funny as it is to see you rough up Spike, I'mma need you to get your hand off my boyfriend.”

The girl turned to her, Spike still lifted above the ground and gasping as he clawed uselessly at the girl’s hand. “Oh, is he yours? I’m very sorry. He isn’t very nice.” She dropped him with a blink. Spike crumpled to the ground. She blinked again, smiling almost impossibly wide. “I must find Warren. He’s looking for me.”

Then she turned and walked toward the exit, ignoring all the Bronze-goers who shrank from her as she went.

Buffy stared after her, frowning, as all the Scoobies gathered beside her. “Um, was it just me or was our super strong girl kind of acting like a…”

“Robot,” Xander said decisively.

“Total robot,” Tara agreed.

“Like a female version of Ted,” Willow added.

Xander shook his head. “I tell ya, the Sunnydale homicidal robot population is getting out of control.” He paused, finger raising uncertainly in the air as he glanced at the groaning form of Spike on the floor. “And I hate to even mention this, but I feel like I missed the part where Spike went from evil stalker guy to boyfriend material since this morning.”

“Boy…wha?” Buffy's eyes grew round in realization as she played back her threat to the robo-girl. Oh no. No, no, no, no. “You didn’t miss anything,” she said frantically, her voice three octaves too high. “No missage here.”

Anya’s nose scrunched up in confusion. “So we all misheard you when it sounded like you told the robot girl to get her hands off your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say ‘boyfriend’! I mean, I did, but I meant to say _not_ boyfriend. You know, like how the robot was also saying he wasn’t her boy… friend…” The last word dissolved into a helpless whimper as everyone continued to stare, and she valiantly stiffened with Slayer authority. “You know what, yes, you misheard me. Complete and entire mishear. That’s what it was. Situation over and done with.”

Spike slowly lifted himself from the ground, massaging his throat and staring at her like he’d just won the damn lottery.

She gave him a deathglare. “Not. One. Word. Or I’ll call back the Stepford wannabe and have her finish the job she started. With as much pain as mechanically possible.”

Spike held up his hands in surrender, a devilish smirk plastered on his face that made her want to break his nose out of principle and cold fury. Before she could follow through with the desire, he backed away, following the robot’s exit path. Thank god.

Buffy’s relief was short-lived as she turned back to her friends.

“Well, I don’t think I misheard anything,” Anya was saying with a huff. “My hearing is excellent—far above average.”

Tara gave Buffy a sympathetic look. “Well, if she did say that… it was probably just a slip of the tongue.”

Willow frowned, oblivious to Buffy’s distress. “That’s a really weird slip. Although, you know, vampire thing, and a slutty brunette… maybe she had Angel on the brain.”

Oh, this was so not her life right now.

“I was thinking about Ben,” Buffy interjected loudly. She motioned to where Ben was watching her cautiously from by the snack table, thankfully out of earshot. “You know, cute hospital intern guy. I was daydreaming about the maybe future boyfriend date thing we have going on.” She pulled out the pink napkin scrap with his phone number, brandishing it for proof. “See? So the tongue slipping thing was just a thing. A, um…”

“A transference thing,” Xander finished. When everyone gaped at him—slack-jawed—he puffed up indignantly. “What? I’m not allowed to know things just because I’m not a fancy college-going fella? I’ve got my smarts, too, thank you very much!”

“Of course you do, sweetie,” Anya said, patting his arm. “I wouldn’t be half as attracted to you if you were dumb.”

Xander’s chin lifted in triumph. “See? Half of my attractiveness is because of my smarts.” He paused. “Wait…”

Tara grinned, elbowing Willow gently as the redhead blushed. “Oh, I’m all about the attractive smarts.”

Buffy stared at her coupled-off friends with sinking realization. She had officially become the fifth wheel Scooby. She cleared her throat, willing the lump in it to go away, and determinedly steered the group back toward official business. “So, what should we do about Miss Hellmouth-y Terminator?”

“Well, she didn’t seem evil,” Tara said slowly. “Just determined to find that Warren guy.”

“He must be her maker,” Willow mused.

“Lucky man,” Xander said fervently, earning him several dirty looks.

“Given enough time,” Willow added, “I can probably track the guy down. There aren’t that many people named Warren around. I’ll probably have a list by tomorrow?”

Buffy nodded. “Sounds great, Wil. I don’t think the robot will do much damage before then, so long as nobody skeezes at her.”

“You mean, like Spike?” Xander grinned. “Can we hope she finds him again?”

“Enthusiastically,” Buffy muttered.

***

Unfortunately, it seemed the robot hadn’t found Spike again. He showed up halfway through Buffy’s trek home to relieve Giles from Dawn babysitting duty while mom was out on her date.

Buffy glared as Spike stepped silently into pace with her, just out of arm’s reach. “Haven’t you had enough rejection for one night?”

He gave her a sidelong glance, a slow grin curling up his lips. “Now now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend, pet?”

She froze mid-step. Swiveling on her heel, she jabbed a finger toward his chest. “You are _not_ my boyfriend. You are not my _friend_. You are not my _anything_.”

Unfortunately, her intimidation tactics had apparently lost their oomph tonight; Spike’s grin just widened. “Hmmm, I seem to have a roomful of ladies and gents that could attest otherwise.”

“A slip of the tongue,” she said flatly. “Nothing else. It didn’t mean anything, so whatever edge you think you have, unthink it right now.”

Spike’s lips twitched. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much, Slayer.”

“There can _never_ be too much protesting when it comes to this.”

Spike lifted a brow, looking more amused every second. She wanted to punch his face in. “For someone so deeply repulsed by my presence, I haven’t noticed any staking going on here.”

Her prepared rant continuation fell away in surprise. “…What?”

Spike gestured toward her. “I know you have one—hell, probably three—nice pointy pieces of wood stashed somewhere in that perky little outfit of yours.” He took a taunting step toward her. “If you’re so bothered by my continued existence, Slayer, why haven’t you just put me out of it?”

Aversion rose in her stomach at the idea but she brutally tamped it down, drawing a stake from her waistband. “Are you looking to become dust tonight? Because I am about one second from making all of your hopes and dreams come true.”

Spike took another sinuous, predatory step forward, his eyes glittering. The menacing edge made her entire neck twinge with warning. Sometimes it was too easy to forget how dangerous Spike was underneath his shock collar.

“My hopes and dreams are red with your blood, Slayer,” he growled. “They’re filled with the sound of your pretty little neck snapping, and the taste of you running down my throat.”

Her grip tightened on the stake as she barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Wow, Spike, and you can still possibly wonder how I know all of your talk of love is bullshit.”

Now it was Spike doing the glaring. “You don’t understand at all, do you, you frigid bitch? I’m not _supposed_ to love you! I’m supposed to make your neck my chalice!” He flung his arms wide and stalked around in a tight circle. “But no, I’m the stupid tosser who had to fall for you. I’m going against my entire nature here, you know, and a little bit of appreciation wouldn’t bloody well kill you!”

Buffy crossed her arms, tapping her stake against her elbow. “What exactly would you like me to appreciate? That you’re twisted and wrong and deluded? Or maybe I should appreciate the fact that you let your ex almost eat me!”

He paused, deflating. “That was an accident. I unchained you… I wouldn’t have let Dru… do that.” His expression twisted then, looking so hurt and angry that Buffy instinctually flinched. Blue eyes bored into hers. “But you disinvited me before that debacle, Buffy, which means it wasn’t the chaining up that sent you running for the hills.” His nostrils flared, his voice falling to a dangerous timbre. “You’re afraid of what it means that I can love you. You’re afraid that if I can love you but your little sweetie bear–”

Her fist flung out, cutting off the rest of his words as he flew back on the pavement.

“Shut. Up.”

Spike laughed weakly from where he was sprawled in a tangle of leather. “Not a chance, pet. I’m going to keep bellowing the truth from every grave marker until at least a kernel of it makes its way through your infuriatingly thick skull.”

“Stop it, I’m swooning.”

“Just trying to make you a little smarter, luv. A little wiser.” He rose slowly to his feet, the shadow of his smirk returning. “That’s what a boyfriend does, innit? Makes sure he’s doing all he can for the wellbeing of his girl?”

Buffy stared at him helplessly, everything roiling in anger and frustration and confusion. “ _Why?_ ”

Surprise flashed across his rising smugness. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this, Spike?” She sighed as anger faded to fatigue, and tucked her stake back in her waistband. “I don’t get it. If you know it’s wrong and you don’t even want to feel this way, then why are you doing it? Why not just leave me alone and find some girl who actually wants you?”

Spike’s expression turned mocking. “For the same reason you keep chasing after Joe Boring: we’re looking for happiness.”

Buffy stumbled back as the words struck her, everything turning even more upside down. “Happiness?” she asked incredulously, then before she could help herself, blurted out, “You think I can make you happy?”

Spike’s gaze softened at her tone, his stance loosening. “I _know_ you can, Buffy. How could you not, incredible woman like you?”

A bitter breath of laughter escaped her lips. “Oh, I’m sure Angel and Riley could give you plenty of reasons.”

“Wankers,” Spike said flatly. “Complete and utter wankers.”

“Well, so far, I’m the common denominator.”

Spike sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “No, pet, the common denominator was them expecting you to make them happy by doing something for them. By being something for them that you’re not.” He let his hand drop and fixed her with another glare. “Any man that isn’t made happy just by getting to be with you isn’t worth the bloody trouble.”

She struggled with disbelief, hating how much her battered heart was soaking up his words. “But I’m around you plenty, Spike, and I can say pretty confidently that our relationship so far has consisted of insults, fights to the almost-death, and mutual hatred. Are you seriously trying to tell me that _that_ makes you happy?”

Spike raised a brow. “Well, yeah. Doesn’t it for you?”

She recoiled. “No.”

She expected another argument, but Spike just gave a short nod, his gaze turning distant and thoughtful. “Alright then. So we’re back to my original question. Why don’t you stake me? I don’t mean anything to you, Slayer. I don’t make you happy. I apparently disgust you…” He motioned toward his head with a sharp gesture. “And if I ever get this sodding chip out of my head, I know you think I’ll be a threat to the general populace again.”

“Are you actually trying to make me believe you wouldn’t be?”

Spike hesitated, and she was unexpectedly grateful for it—that he stopped himself from a knee-jerk response she’d immediately have to distrust. “I can’t say it wouldn’t be tempting,” he said slowly, “but I…” He looked down at his boots, conflict stamped across his face. “Dru offered it to me when she came back. Offered to kill for me and let me drink from the bodies so that we could be together until I could get all fixed up.”

Revulsion swelled in Buffy’s throat. “Sounds like a grand ol’ time.”

Spike looked up at her again, something tightening in his expression. “You’d think, yeah. Hell, it _is_ what I thought until it was right in front of me.” He gave a humorless bark of laughter. “It was right in front of me, and I didn’t want it. All I could think of was you. I told you… I’m drowning in you, Summers.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “What does that even mean?”

“Mean?” Spike looked as lost as she felt. “Bloody hell, I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. All I know is I can’t get you out. You’re twisting everything up inside.” Sensing her forthcoming objection, he added flatly, “And if that isn’t love, then you better tell me a better definition, pet.”

God help her, but she didn’t have one. If there was one thing her experiences in love had done really well, it was twist up her insides.

She hesitated, suddenly uncertain amidst the weirdness of this conversation. “Say… say I believe that you love me. Or that you think you love me.” Spike snorted derisively, but she ignored him. “That doesn’t mean I owe you anything in return. You having feelings doesn’t mean I have to have them for you back.”

Spike made an exasperated noise. “Yeah, I got that memo. Which puts us right back to the question you seem hell-bent on ignoring. _Why the sodding hell haven’t you staked me yet?!_ ”

“Because I don’t want to!” she burst out, with equal frustration.

They stared at one another. Buffy’s heart was pounding so loudly it was probably a miracle it hadn’t cracked her chest.

Spike’s mouth drew a crooked line. “Well, that says something then, luv, whether you’d like it to or not.” His gaze narrowed. “And don’t you dare try and play it off like it’s part of the ‘don’t hurt the helpless vampire’ routine. Might have my fangs jailed now, but I’ve caused enough death and mayhem in my time to warrant a staking a thousand times over.”

Buffy stared at him, a million denials on her tongue. But the truth was… he was right. Damn him, he was right. It meant something. She had no idea what, but it meant _something_ , and it had nothing to do with the chip in his head outside of the fact that she didn’t feel immediately obligated to regard him as a threat.

She spread her arms in a weary, surrendering gesture. “Fine. It says a very minuscule amount of something. So what?”

The flash of hope across Spike’s face was almost blinding. And completely terrifying. He stepped toward her again, ruthlessly invading her personal space, his lean form so close that another inch would have them colliding. Buffy was thralled by the determination in his gaze. Even Willow had nothing on this resolve face—this obsessive vampire thirst.

“So,” he said huskily, his eyes half-lidded as he stared down at her lips, “let me prove that we can be good together.”

She exhaled shallowly, all the breath stolen from her lungs. “What, like another lame-o date attempt?”

Spike winced. “No. That was a mistake. I was trying too hard—trying to be your Joe Boring instead of me.” His eyes flared brighter in the dark as he stared at her. “Should have known better. That’s not what you need.”

“Says you.”

“Yeah. Says me.” His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, cold fingers digging into her flesh. “Come back to my crypt with me, Buffy. _Let me show you how good we can be_.”

She was insane for even considering it. She was entirely, certifiably insane. She tried for one last diversion. “Giles is waiting…”

The grip on her wrist tightened. “Let him wait.” Spike tugged her fully against him, one hand sliding around her waist as he ground her lower belly into the hard length of his erection. She arched into his touch despite herself, and her free hand splayed across his chest, where hard muscle quivered at her touch. Fire flooded her insides. Oh god, it had been way too long since she’d felt this way—like a wanted, powerful woman. The way she wanted a normal guy to make her feel. Except there had been nothing like this from flirting with Ben.

“Let me show you,” Spike whispered against the juncture where her jaw met her ear. The edge of his tongue lashed out against her skin, and tingling shivers rolled down her spine. “Just this once.”

The last of her resistance broke. She closed her eyes as his lips trailed across her cheek, her breath shaky and shuddering. “Just this once.”


	2. Just Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny sections of dialogue adapted from "I Was Made To Love You" and "Dead Things".

Spike hadn’t let go of her wrist. In fact, now that she’d insanely given consent for something likely non-clothes-having and was letting herself be led toward Restfield, Spike wasn’t even looking at her. He kept them moving at a pace that was about as close to running as walking could get, his eyes darting everywhere but at her.

“You know, speed walking doesn’t exactly fit with the slow seduction Anne Rice routine you were just trying to pull.”

Spike looked back at her finally, startled. “Anne Rice?” He jerked them to a halt in the middle of the street and released her wrist, his nose scrunched up in offense. “That bint’s vampires wouldn’t know seduction if it did a lap dance in front of them with lacy knickers.”

“Just calling them as I see them, Spikey.”

Spike huffed in annoyance before casting her a strangely shy look from beneath his lashes. “You… why aren’t you bolting?”

Buffy looked around with exaggeratedly wide eyes. “Was I supposed to? Was that the next stage here? I go all terrified damsel in distress and you—I don’t know—don’t eat me?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “No. I just meant…” He hesitated, then mumbled, “Didn’t think you’d actually agree to come back with me.”

“Really? You were laying it on pretty thick for being Mr. Unconfident Guy.”

Spike’s tongue snaked behind his teeth as his hands swept down to frame his erection through his jeans. “No, pet, just thick enough.”

“Ugh.” Buffy shook her head as heat unwillingly blossomed in her lower belly again. God, what was she doing? This was bad, bad, bad. “I need to call Giles.”

Panic flashed across Spike’s face and his hands dropped away from his bulge, instead reaching toward her. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry. Just give me a chance, alright?”

“Huh?” She took in his desperate expression. “No, you doofus. I need to call Giles and tell him I’m going to be late.” She glanced around. “I vaguely remember a payphone being nearby.”

Spike stared at her, his stance uncertain. “Uh. Yeah. Next block over.” He opened to his mouth as if to add something else, but instead jerked his head to the left and started walking that direction.

When they found the payphone, Spike awkwardly hovered nearby while she called Giles and updated him on the robot situation, then told him that she needed to deal with a troublesome demon before heading back to Revello. No lie there.

“I understand,” Giles said wearily. “Just be careful. And, ah, come when you can?”

“Uh oh, what’s happening?”

“Dawn and I have just finished listening to aggressively cheerful music sung by people chosen for their ability to dance. I fear cookie dough is next on the list.”

“Is that code for ‘there’s only so much I can take, Buffy’?”

“You know me so well.”

“I try.” She glanced toward Spike’s anxious figure. “I’ll be over… as soon as I’m done.”

“Yes, well, very good then.”

She hung up the phone while stifling a small giggle. “I think Giles is terrified of a teenager.”

Spike snorted. “With good reason. They’re little hormone bombs. And the Niblet’s made of Slayer on top of it.”

“He’s used to the Slayerness,” Buffy said, moving back toward the cemetery. “Trust me, it’s the young girl part that has him sending out the big-time SOS.” She glanced over and realized that Spike was staring at her with a bemused smile. “Okay, first you act like I’m the lady with snake hair and now we’re doing a 180 situation. What gives?”

Spike swallowed, shifting his gaze away. “Just surprised, is all.”

“About?”

His eyes flicked back to her. “You. Me. Having a conversation. Thought we weren’t”—he drew exaggerated air quotes with his index and middle fingers—“ ‘talking buddies,’ as you put it so vehemently last week.”

She grimaced. How quickly the world had turned upside down. “Yeah, well, I guess if I’m being Bad Decisions Buffy tonight, I might as well go all out and talk to the evil fiend as well as screw him.”

Hurt blossomed across Spike’s face. “Buffy, that’s not…”

She halted on the sidewalk, hands on her hips. “Once, Spike. You said _once_. This is all you get. And nothing you say is going to change the fact that this is a really terrible, epic levels of awful idea.”

Spike stared at her, jaw clenched. “Then why are you even–” He cut himself off with a scornful exhale. “Oh, I see. Clever ploy, luv, but it won’t work.”

Buffy regarded him blankly. “What won’t work?”

He sneered at her. “You think I’ll leave after this. Get my jollies in, have my taste of Slayer cunt, and decide all my feelings don’t mean rot.”

Honestly, that hadn’t even been on the radar but—now that it was—it was a great-sounding idea. She could get her sexual frustration and her chipped frustration out of the way in one evening. Talk about efficiency. “Sure, why not. Every other guy’s done it.”

Spike scoffed, sliding close to her as he stared her down. “Why not? Because, pet, unlike your wankerish ex-lovers, _I’ve got staying power_. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be ruined for all other men.”

She ignored the tremble that speech sent up her spine. Instead, she carelessly brushed past him and headed through the open cemetery gates. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

A furious growl rang out behind her. Buffy bit down on a smile and kept walking.

Of course, she got about four rows of gravestones in to find that the semi-fictional cover of a troublesome demon wasn’t even partially fictional after all.

“What is _that_?”

Spike came up beside her. “Chirago demon. Nasty bugger.”

Buffy nibbled on her lower lip as she eyed the beige monstrosity. “It’s huge.”

“And solid muscle. Back in ’49, I had three minions get crushed when one slipped and fell.”

Buffy sighed. “Great. How do we kill it?”

“We don’t. We’d need weapons, at minimum.” When Buffy held up her stake, he rolled his eyes. “Of the metal variety. And preferably a bit sharper. Chirago hide’s tough.” He waved in the demon’s direction. “And it doesn’t generally eat people, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I thought you said it was nasty.”

“Well, yeah, but so are hippos, pet. And they’re fine if you stay out of their general vicinity.”

Buffy glanced around. “And what’s the size of a ‘vicinity’ for this guy?”

“Eh, so long as we keep to the edges here, we should be fine.”

“Should be? Very reassuring.” Buffy raised her eyes to the sky. “As if I needed more of a sign that this is a terrible idea.”

Spike regarded her steadily, an edge of derisive challenge in his gaze. “Thinking of bolting after all, Slayer?”

“No,” she said sharply, thoughtlessly, then paused as she realized the truth of her words. She didn’t want to back out. Oh, this was a million kinds of bad. “Let’s go.”

They crouched and snuck around the thicker hedges near the cemetery wall, keeping to the shadows. Buffy held her breath when the Chirago grumbled like a bull and took a few steps in their direction, its flapped mouth waving.

“Smelling for us,” Spike supplied unnecessarily. A cool hand pressed against her shoulder. “Keep going.”

They were nearly past the point of likely danger when Spike rose to his feet.

“What are you…”

Spike flashed her a wicked grin. “Trust me?”

Buffy lifted her brows in disbelief. “Never.”

Spike’s grin widened. He winked at her and turned toward the demon. “Oi! Big ugly!”

The demon pivoted in their direction with a violent snort, and Buffy gasped. “What the hell are you doing!”

Spike turned back to her with a maniacal expression. “Ready to run, Slayer?”

Her eyes widened as the Chirago started charging in their direction. The ground shook. “Oh my god.”

She took off, darting through the tombstones. Spike sprinted beside her with a whoop of laughter. She didn’t dare look back, fear and fury burning through her veins as they nearly fell into Spike’s crypt. Spike threw the doors shut, slamming down the cross bar.

They listened intently to the rumble of footsteps.

“Think he’s heading off the other way,” Spike said eventually, with clear satisfaction.

“Good. Now I can do this.” Buffy swung out, her fist making a satisfying crunch as it connected with Spike's face.

“Ow! Bloody hell, Slayer! What is it with you and my nose!”

She glared at him as he held a protective hand over his face. “I am going to kill you!”

Spike drew his hand away, a knowing light in his eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“I am!” she hissed. “You call this showing me how good we could be together?!”

He straightened and prowled toward her. She was backed up against the nearby wall before she knew it. “Yeah, I do. Your blood’s racing, luv. I can hear it pitter pattering through your veins.” He leaned in closer, penning her in with his arms. “Can smell how wet running from death made you. How alive it made you feel.” His lips brushed her nose. “Tell me you’ve ever felt like this before with any other bloke.”

She clenched her thighs together in denial, swallowing down her racing breath. “Felt what, seething hatred?”

He pulled back to smirk at her. “Little late in the game to play that card, pet. Points for effort, though.” He cocked his head at her, his voice growing low and dusky. “We’ve already covered that you don’t want to kill me, Buffy. You want to fuck me, remember?”

It was impossible to forget. For years she’d managed to relegate her attraction to Spike to the edges of her awareness—bury it beneath vicious death threats and sensual taunting—but it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface and swelling up randomly. Sometimes in her dreams or when Angel’s face just wasn’t quite getting her to the brink as she lay in bed, desperate for a few moments of quiet pleasure. But that was all. Until tonight.

“I don’t even like you,” she breathed.

Spike’s lips quirked. “Don’t you? Seem to like hitting me an awful lot.”

“That is not the same thing. At all.”

“Maybe not,” he said consideringly, his heated gaze leaving her unsure whether she was now predator or prey. “But it’s close enough.”

“You’re warped.”

His lips drew close to hers, a hairsbreadth from touching. He was making every sense hum with warning and unbearable tension. “And you love it.”

“Shut up.” She grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his lips against hers.

She expected war when kissing Spike, and that’s exactly what he gave her. They came together ruthlessly—fierce and sharp and invigorating. Thank god. She needed a good fight. One that wasn’t Glory kicking her ass, or her mother getting sick, or a stupid hair band groupie fledge almost getting his one good day. This fight she could win.

“Show me more,” she demanded, shoving Spike backward.

His eyes were dark—pupils blown wide as he tumbled against the edge of the couch, hands bracing backward. He growled what sounded like an affirmative and stalked back toward her. She expected him to kiss her again—harder, maybe softer—but instead he sank to his knees.

“A slip of the tongue, was it,” he muttered, staring at her clad crotch. “I’m going to slip my tongue all sorts of sodding places.” His tongue ran along his front teeth in emphasis, and she shivered.

His hands slid up from her toes to her ankles, gliding along the leather of her boots beneath her pants legs until they reached the tops above her ankles. Spike thumbed the zippers, holding her gaze in a way felt almost unbearably intimate. When her breath hitched uncertainly, he gave a small grin and unzipped her boots in one smooth motion. He lifted her feet one by one—stripping her boots and socks all at once—and tossed all of the apparel to the side. His hands returned to her skin, soothing the cold touch with slow, circular motions.

She stared down at the top of his head, biting her lip as he silently surveyed her now bare feet. “Spike?”

He glanced up, and she caught the wicked glint in his eyes. “Shh. Thinking down here.”

“My feet require _thinking_?”

“Mm,” came the rumbled reply. “Gotta decide,” he said slowly, his voice like hot coals over fire, “which foot to start with. They’re both so luscious. And look at you, painting your nails beneath your arse-kicking boots.” She heard the amused smile in his voice. “So bloody pretty.”

She held her breath, her heart pounding with some mix of anxiety and anticipation. “What exactly are you starting with at my feet?”

His head cocked to the side as he lifted her left foot decisively. “This.” Then her big toe was inside his mouth. She squeaked in surprise and tried to jerk her leg back, but Spike held on with an iron grip. His tongue flicked against the tip of her toe and a shocking jolt of pleasure flashed up her spine. She stopped moving.

“Oh-h.”

Spike’s tongue ran down the bottom of her toe in a slow dragging motion, and her exhalation turned to a whimper. She leaned back against the wall as his hands added to the sensation—sliding down her calf to massage her arch and the heel of her foot.

“Oh god.” Her fingers clutched at his gelled locks, mussing them in spasming takes as Spike’s tongue slid between her toes, lavishing each one with attention as he went down the line—ending with a sensual kiss to the ball of her foot before setting the limb back on the crypt floor.

She wordlessly lifted her right foot in entreaty, and gasped when he obliged her, sucking in her big toe again. But Spike was nothing if not unpredictable. Instead of following the same path as before, he tilted his head sideways and nibbled down her insole, alternating nearly painful nips with soft kisses.

Buffy’s head spun. Her lower belly throbbed. How had she ended up this turned on from what was essentially a foot massage? And why the hell had none of her previous lovers given her one? Despite having a lot of sex with Riley through her year-long relationship, they’d really never gone past the standard set of options. Riley had never explored her like this. But then, she’d never explored him, either.

Somehow Buffy made her legs work, and pulled Spike up by his collar despite his protests. Her hands tugged at his duster. “Show me more,” she whispered.

He shrugged off the offending garment as she captured his mouth again.

“How much?” he demanded breathlessly between kisses.

“All of it.”

She felt his grin against her lips. “Best get a bit more comfortable then, luv. Got a real bed downstairs that should do the trick.” He pulled back from her, head turning toward the trap door in the floor. “Wait here a moment. Need to, er, tidy up.”

Some of Buffy’s ardor cooled with the reminder of when she’d last been in Spike’s crypt—the first time she’d seen the underground room. “Please don’t tell me that gross shrine is still down there.”

Spike wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Alright, I won’t.”

Disappointed disgust rose. “Damnit, Spike.”

Spike stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunching. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything.”

His shoulders hunched further. “I know.”

They stood stiffly apart. This was the moment she could leave, Buffy realized in a flash. She could punch him in the nose again and pretend this entire series of slips—in tongue and judgment—had never happened. And Spike wouldn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

“Spike.”

He flinched at the sound of her voice, his jaw clenching as he continued to look away. A sharp breath heaved his chest. “Yeah?”

“I want all of my stuff back. Like yesterday. And if you ever do anything that idiotic again, I _will_ stake you.”

He looked back at her, eyes searching hers with relief and surprise. “Won’t,” he swore softly. “And Dru won’t come back again, anyhow.” There was grim certainty in his voice.

“What makes you so sure?”

Spike’s mouth quirked humorlessly. “Because I chose you, Slayer. When the chips fell, it was me throwing her away from you. That’s not something she’s likely to forgive. You heard her, with all that rot about me being past her help.”

Buffy shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying that much attention to your crazy ex. I was more concerned with the general stupidity of the situation.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and glanced again toward the trap door. “Still need to clean up. That is, if you’re staying?”

She waved him away, padding barefoot over to his couch and settling herself on the arm. “Go.”

He practically flew downstairs. Buffy rubbed a hand along the worn couch fabric as she listened to the clatter of things being thrown and moved around, and tried very hard not to think of what the hell she was doing. Her bare toes brushed the cold floor and a shiver wound up her spine. She settled more heavily against the couch.

When Spike’s head popped up from the trap door opening a minute later, visible relief smoothed his face as he caught sight of her. “It’s, uh, decent now.”

Buffy nodded and crossed over to the trap door, stepping backwards down the rickety wooden steps. Spike was right there as she reached the bottom, his eyes dark and expectant.

“Buffy.” The word was a whisper, a prayer.

Flagging desire rekindled in a heartbeat. “Show me,” she demanded again.

“Gladly.” He claimed her mouth ruthlessly, arms wrapping around her waist and tugging her forward. Buffy followed him without complaint, not paying attention to their meandering path until they knocked against the promised bed. Spike fell backward onto the mattress and dragged her with him, positioning her so that she straddled him right over his clothed erection. She broke away from his mouth at last as her muddled brain puzzled over the black silk caressing her knees and shins.

“You have sheets.”

Spike chuckled lowly. “And pillows. I’m not a heathen, luv.”

“Says the vampire who has skulls and a coffin sitting like ten feet away.”

He gave her an unrepentant look. “Ambiance. Have a reputation to uphold.”

Buffy’s next comment was cut short as he took possession of her mouth again, then trailed down her jaw and neck until he was pressing kisses against her collarbone, eventually halted by the hem of her sweater. His hands captured her wrists and raised her arms above her head.

“Stay,” he said heatedly. When she acquiesced, he quickly tugged her sweater up and off, tossing it to the side as his eyes zeroed in on her bra. Thankfully, she’d worn a nice one to the Bronze luau—festively light pink and lacy—but the way Spike was nearly drooling made her think she could have worn her rattiest sports bra and it wouldn’t have mattered. A finger traced down her sternum, following the line between her breasts as the other reached around to unclip her bra at the back.

“Want to see your gorgeous tits.”

Buffy shook her head, somewhere between flattered and exasperated. “You don’t know that they’re gorgeous.”

Spike pressed a hard kiss on her covered right nipple, a low growl rumbling his throat that vibrated deliciously against her skin. “Impossible for them to be anything else, pet.”

Well, she had to give him credit: Spike could be unexpectedly charming when he put his mind to it. Buffy let the unhooked bra fall away… and became immediately, viscerally aware that she’d officially reached the bounds of ‘compromising position’ with an ex mortal enemy.

But if Spike realized the same thing, he made no gesture of it. Instead, his breath hitched as he stared at her with an amount of awe that she was very sure her boobs had never inspired before.

“See,” he said lowly, fingers tweaking her nipples into hard peaks. “Gorgeous.”

A whimper escaped her throat. She clawed vehemently at his t-shirt. “Off.”

He grinned, leaning up to lick her nipples in short strokes that made her keen. “Tit for tat is it, pet?”

“Shirt, not tat,” she corrected, with an impish smile.

A delighted laugh fell from his lips. “Christ,” he said fervently. “Always knew you were a minx.”

“And impatient,” she added, ripping his shirt down the middle with one forceful tear.

Oh. Oh wow. Spike was _pretty_. Riley had been heavily muscled, too, but his had been in that Iowa farm kid/secret commando way, all thick waisted and bulging limbed. And Angel had been, for better or worse, much the same. (She could admit, under slight duress, that she had a type.) But Spike most certainly didn’t fit that mold. He was slender, sleek, like some kind of rock hard, pale jungle cat. And he was very, very pretty.

He preened under her gaze, tossing away the remains of his shirt with a leering flex of muscle. “Do I pass inspection, Slayer?”

“Uh huh.”

He thrust his hips under her with a smirk. “Haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

She lifted a brow. “I seem to recall that I said show me everything. So, _show me_ ,” she said forcefully, leaning down to bite one of his nipples. “Right freaking now.”

Spike groaned and shuddered beneath her. And then suddenly she was no longer on top—he’d flipped them on the mattress. Silk rubbed sensually against her shoulder blades as she watched Spike unbutton his jeans and unzip them. His cock jumped out proudly as he pushed the waistband down. It bobbed hard and eager, pre-ejaculate glistening at the tip. She sat up on her elbows and leaned forward to taste it, and Spike gasped as her tongue slipped over his cockhead.

“Oh, Christ.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, before releasing him and licking the salt from her lips. She laid back down as Spike turned to the side and shoved off his boots, kicking away his jeans a moment later.

Fire lit his eyes as he turned back to her. “I believe,” he growled, his voice equally smoldering, “I was supposed to be the one slipping my tongue into places.”

The throb in her lower belly became a raging ocean swell. “You were.”

Her pants were unzipped and wrenched down her legs a moment later.

“So bloody gorgeous,” Spike snarled, lifting her legs up and over his shoulders and shifting forward so that her knees were bent back toward her chest. She was wide open and trembling.

“Spike…” The plea ended in a whimper.

He answered her in action. His tongue dove between her folds, lapping with a skilled abandon that left her screaming. Her orgasm crested before she could brace for it and pleasure rippled unchecked—an almost unbearable euphoria.

Spike groaned as she spasmed helplessly against his tongue. “Fuck, _yes_.” He shifted up and slid his cock in with one smooth motion, prolonging her orgasm as he plunged in and out with deep, slow strokes.

“Bloody hell, your cunt’s like a vice,” he said hoarsely.

Buffy whimpered some kind of questioning sound that he must’ve understood.

“It’s glorious,” he affirmed, shifting angles and making them both gasp at the sensation. “And you’re so bleeding wet.”

Buffy nodded as she moaned, fingers clutching at the sheets. She’d never been this wet before. For the first time, the trashy romance usage of the word ‘flood’ didn’t seem so laughable.

“I’ve never…”

Spike raised a brow when her voice trailed off. “Never? Never what?”

She swallowed down her embarrassment—she was in the middle of getting screwed by Spike (definitely a top ten listing of _Things She Never Thought Would Happen In A Million Years_ )—a couple of words were the least of her concern. “I’ve never come that hard before.”

Spike groaned deep and low, almost desperate. His pace turned more voracious, his hips slamming into her with force just short of pain. His hand came down and caressed her clit with his thumb pad. “Let’s see if we can’t raise the bar, yeah?”

“Yes,” she whispered, then—before she could stop herself—added in a tumbling blur, “How else am I going to know how good we can be?”

Hope flashed across Spike’s gaze. “Does that—”

“I’m not promising anything. I’m just…”— _Confused. Turned upside down. Turned unbelievably, almost unbearably on—_ “saying there could be… more than this once. _Maybe_.”

Spike cocked his head as he surveyed her, his thrusts driving her nearly out of her mind in time with the relentless swirl of his fingers. “And here I figured I’d have to shag you a good dozen times before you’d even consider it.”

Her eyes widened. “A dozen…?”

A wicked, dirty grin parted his lips. “Maybe more.” His next thrust was emphatic. “Told you, pet, I’ve got staying power.”

Oh god. This wasn’t a battle, this was a siege. And she wasn’t sure now if she wanted it to end. The onset of her next orgasm made the decision even muddier—mostly because her brain turned into a complete pile of mush.

Still, siege breaking or not, there was no reason she couldn’t get her own jabs in. She tugged Spike toward her and sank her teeth into the scar at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. A snarl exploded against her hair.

“ _Fuck_.”

Buffy kissed the spot with a satisfied smile, her fingers digging into his back as his thrusts turned jerky and wild. “Come in me, Spike.”

He trembled against her, a sharp cry parting his lips as he pulsed inside her. He shuddered through his own orgasm, kissing her hair with a whispered mantra of, “Buffy. God, Buffy. _Buffy_.”

They collapsed fully on the bed, Spike rolling them so that she ended up sprawled across his unnecessarily heaving chest.

“Give us a second,” he said roughly, “and I’ll have you screaming again.”

Buffy lifted a brow as she stared down at his erection, which had yet to flag, and Spike grinned.

“My prick’s not the part that needs the reprieve.” An edge of vulnerability appeared in his gaze. “Just want to bask for a moment, alright?”

“Oh.” Buffy glanced away in discomfort, reality intruding on her post-coital haze with cold, sobering tendrils. “Well, I should... I mean, I can’t be away all night anyway.”

Spike’s loose grip turned constricting. “Not yet.” He sat up and continued quickly, "Forget that about the basking. Let's have another go now."

God, she wanted to. But duty called. Buffy pushed away from his chest and slid to the edge of the bed, the fog in her brain finally clearing and steeling her voice. “No, I really have to get home. If I’m gone much longer, Giles is going to send out back-up for my 'demon hunting.'”

Spike reached an arm toward her then let it drop, his face the picture of resignation. “Right.”

Buffy made her shaky legs work and climbed off the bed, slowly gathering up her clothes. She could feel Spike’s gaze on her, but he didn’t offer any words until she was about to climb up the steep steps.

“Is this it then? No chance of that ‘maybe more’, after all?”

Buffy hesitated, her hands brushing the laddered staircase and her insides fluttering with uncertainty. The orgasms must've permanently addled her brain because she didn't want tonight to be the end. But what chance for something was there with Spike? How could she justify continuing this... whatever it was? But maybe... maybe those were problems for another day. Maybe she'd do what she did best and figure it out along the way.

Finally, she said, “I have to go hunt down Miss Insane-o bot tomorrow.”

A line furrowed Spike’s brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But maybe after, I’ll… stop by again.” She met his gaze steadily. “And then we can work on that dozen or more times thing. Plus, um, maybe another foot massage."

Spike’s entire face brightened. He settled back on his elbows with a leer. “Til tomorrow then.”

Buffy nodded and hurried up into the upper level of the crypt without another word, pausing only to retrieve her socks and boots.

It wasn’t until she was out in the cool air of the cemetery, her hands slipping into her front pants pockets, that she felt the strip of napkin with Ben’s phone number. She stared at it as she walked. She could still call him. Set up the coffee date they’d chatted about and pretend she hadn’t just had sex with a morally questionable vampire who was in love with her. Pretend she could be happy with a nice guy who’d never made her insides quiver or made her so furious that she wanted to kill him.

Spike’s promise from earlier in the night echoed back in her ears; _By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be ruined for all other men._

Damn him.

She dropped the scrap of napkin to the ground. Then she kept walking toward home.


End file.
